Read Online Wreath by Judy Christie - Free Book Online Page B

and pulled on the bolt until her face was red. “Darn,” she muttered and disappeared back into the workroom. She rummaged around in the cabinets, opening and closing doors and wondering if she was being tested. Wouldn’t any normal person have helped her?
    She danced a little jig when she came across a small hammer and a can of WD-40 that looked like it had been sitting there for years. Within minutes she had the door open and stepped out into the alley.
    Wreath wiped her hands on her shorts, wrinkling her nose. “You sure someone hasn’t been feeding a cat around here? There must have been a half dozen tuna cans in that sack. I’ll empty that more often from now on.”
    “That’ll be fine,” Faye said in a waspish tone.
    Twisting the cap off a bottle of lemon oil, Wreath inhaled the smell. She dug out a soft cloth from under a counter and wiped the top of a table. A glow replaced a layer of dust.
    “What would you like me to do now?” Wreath asked, stepping back in with a smile.
    “Now?” Faye looked at the neon clock hanging on the back wall, an advertisement for a line of furniture. “That’s it for today.”
    Wreath followed her gaze. “But I’ve only been here an hour. I thought you were going to let me earn the bike.”
    “Take the bike,” Faye said.
    “I want to work,” Wreath said. “I need a job.”
    “I don’t have any more work for you.” Faye spoke in the tired voice Frankie had sometimes used.
    Wreath looked around, feeling wild and desperate. She might be poor, but she was not pitiful. She dug in her pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and laid it on Faye’s desk. “If you’ll hold the bike for me, I’ll come back when I have more money.”
    “I said take the bike,” Faye said. She picked up a merchandise catalog from her desk.
    “It wouldn’t be right,” Wreath said. She paused on her way to the door, straightened an area rug, and adjusted the angle of a chair and end table. “Thanks again for the flashlight.”
    The woman glanced at the rug and back at Wreath. “Be back tomorrow at one, but I don’t intend to hold your hand. Take the bike.”

Chapter 9
    A feeling of freedom washed over Wreath, a sense of joy she had not felt since Frankie had gotten sick. She hummed one of the country songs that had been on the radio in the furniture store, music her mama loved so much.
    She had earned the bike.
    Wreath’s legs trembled, and the bike wobbled as she headed down the street, thankful to put space between her and her second day at Durham’s Fine Furnishings. She pedaled harder, riding through the town, which still looked like Wreath felt—worn out but in decent shape. The ride home was definitely an improvement over the walk, although she was more tired than she’d anticipated. Her workday had been short, and she didn’t want to think about Mrs. Faye Durham and how oddly the woman acted, nor the possibility that the job wouldn’t last.
    Hiding the bike behind a thorny bush in the junkyard, she tiptoed through an examination of her camp, half holding her breath as usual until she was certain no one was near. Listening nervously to various chirps, croaks, and a squealing noise that sounded like a broken radio, she fixed peanut butter and crackers for supper and settled into the Tiger Van.
    Restlessness swept over her. She tried to blame it on her boss, a woman who reminded her of shrews she had studied in junior-year English class. But she knew Law and Clarice were the ones who had stirred her up. Law was what her mother would have called a “looker.” Wreath appreciated the fact that he worked and was thankful in a warped way that he wasn’t rich. She had hoped to run into him again today, but knew it was for the best that she hadn’t.
    Clarice had made Wreath think about reading, and she wished for a new series to start or one of her old favorites to reread. Some of the best stories she had read three or four times, but she had left all the books she owned in